Deja Vu
by pgrabia
Summary: After House and Cuddy split, who is there to pick up the pieces of House's broken heart? Post-episode reaction to ep. 7x15 "Bombshells".  SPOILERS throughout.  H/W friendship-ust/pre-slash.  Mention of H/Cu. Drug use, coarse language, sexual concepts.


**Title: ****Deja Vu**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy(mentioned), House/Wilson Friendship-UST or Pre-slash depending on the spectacles you're wearing;) Mention of House/Cuddy.

**A/N: **This is a missing scene at the end of episode 7x15 "Bombshells" that I would have liked to have seen occur. Alas, TPTB have their heads up their bums so they can't see the obvious.

**Warning: **Spoilers for all episodes up to and including 7x15; coarse language.

**Genre:** Drama/help-comfort with friendship heavy with the UST.

**Word Count: **1121 including introduction.

**Rating: T(R)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, drug use

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**Deja Vu**

House barely hesitated when he popped the couple of Vicodin tablets into his mouth and dry-swallowed them. He'd been too focused on taking away the pain that he hadn't heard the footsteps in the corridor.

"How many have you taken?" Wilson asked him gently as he walked into the diagnostician's bathroom and sat down beside him close enough that their shoulders brushed.

"How'd you get in?"House asked him numbly. He looked like he'd aged twenty years in one day. There was something missing in his eyes. Wilson recognized it as the will to live. It frightened him. He didn't have to ask what had happened.

"You forgot to lock your door," was the softly spoken answer. "How many, House?"

"What difference does it make?" the older man demanded. "Just lecture me and then get the hell out and leave me alone."

"It matters because I need to know if you've taken enough to overdose." Wilson lightly placed his hand on the hand of House's that held the pill bottle. He didn't pry the bottle away or otherwise force it away from his friend. He simply waited in silence, his eyes meeting the blank ones looking back at him. For the first time in over a year—nearly two, in fact—House's pupils were nothing but pin points. It stirred a feeling of disappointment in Wilson, but it wasn't a disappointment in House; it was a disappointment in Cuddy for dumping him and in himself for deserting House and kicking him out of the loft in the first place, for not seeing the signs of his imminent relapse until it was too late to stop it.

House loosened his grip on the bottle. Wilson gently took it from him and looked at the label. It was dated February, two-thousand-nine.

"I took two after she left," House told him, looking away in shame. "No overdose."

Wilson released the breath he hadn't known he had been holding and nodded. "Good to hear. Cuddy had called me before she came over here. I tried to calm her down and told her to think things through and try to understand why you may have felt it necessary to take the Vicodin. I know I had to do that myself before I came over. Then I reminded myself that addiction is a disease, not a character flaw."

"Seriously?" House snarked, forcing himself to his feet. "Once an enabler, always an enabler, huh Wilson? Well enable me by writing me a script and then get out." He limped, sans cane, out of his bathroom. Wilson got up and followed him into his bedroom.

"I'm not about to enable you anymore, House," Wilson told him calmly, "but I'm not going to abandon you again, either. I'm not leaving—and you don't want me to."

"Wrong again," House told him coldly. "I don't give a fuck about anybody or anything anymore. You, Cuddy, my job, me…don't matter to me anymore." House began to remove his shirt.

Wilson sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, you do give a fuck. You care too much, that's the problem. Like you once told me—you're an addict, so you turn everything up to an eleven. That includes your anger, your love, your fear, your lust, your relationships. Right now you have the self-pity blaring loud and clear. That's okay. I haven't been doing much better myself lately. Maybe we're not meant to find the women of our dreams and live happily ever after. Maybe we've been looking for love and fulfillment in the wrong places."

House removed his undershirt and flung it where his other shirt ended up.

"What are you suggesting?" House asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the oncologist. "That we should just fuck and get it over with?"

Wilson felt his face turn beet red. No, he hadn't been suggesting that, at least not yet. He'd thought it, though. "No way! I'm not dating you while you're on the rebound." He grinned, trying to make it sound like he was kidding around so he wouldn't weird House out.

"Oh, so you're waiting until I'm over her," House responded, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Decent of you. Now get out of my room. I want to undress and go to sleep." House didn't say the 'and never wake up' part that was so evidently displayed in his eyes. It was that which kept Wilson from respecting his wishes.

"I'll turn my back, but I'm not leaving you alone for a second," the younger man told him. He did as he said turning his back so House could disrobe with modesty (Wilson had to smile at that. House was many things, but he was far from being modest). Since he was closest to the bedroom door he would know right away if House tried to leave the room. The diagnostician obviously chose not to. Wilson heard the rustle of jeans as the older man removed his.

"Quit doing that,' House told him with an exasperated sigh. "After the infarction you wiped my ass when I couldn't. There's nothing you haven't seen anyway."

Wilson turned back around. House was crawling under the blankets and then settled onto his back and sighed. His eyelids were heavy—after a year being off the Vicodin his body had readjusted so now even a couple of tablets could knock him out.

"I'll only disappoint you, too," House murmured to him, his countenance sad. "You'll leave too when you get fed up with me."

"House, after all we've been through I'm still here for you, so obviously I'm not going anywhere." Wilson had the urge to tuck his friend in 'snug as a bug in a rug' but resisted it.

Nearly asleep now, the diagnostician slurred to him, "Wilson, do _you_ love me?"

Watching House fall asleep almost immediately following asking his question, Wilson pulled the covers up around House's shoulders, sighed, nodded, and smiled sadly.

"Yes," he whispered softly, "I do."

_**fin**_


End file.
